


Not Broken

by DeanWinchesterPityParty



Series: Supernatural One-Shots [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, F/M, Fluff, cursing, seriously so much fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-12
Updated: 2014-12-12
Packaged: 2018-03-01 04:05:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2758991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeanWinchesterPityParty/pseuds/DeanWinchesterPityParty





	Not Broken

I’d been hunting with the Winchesters since I was 19. Sam had just gone off to college and John, for whatever reason, had taken me in. He had rescued me from some rogue ghouls. They had already killed my family, and were starting on me. I had just gotten home from college for the first time in two months.

“Do you have anywhere to go?” John had asked. When I shook my head, he sighed. “Okay. Go pack a bag. Essentials only.” And from then on, my place had been the backseat of the Impala.

Now, at 29, things were a lot different. Dean and I had been dating for six years, and Sam had been back in the picture for five. John was gone, and, honestly, part of me was glad. He was an ass, had even propositioned me a few times. Once, when I screwed up a hunt, he hit me. Just smacked the bejeazus out of me, knocked me down so that I hit my head on the Impala and got a concussion. Dean had leapt between the two of us, but John had already turned and walked away. That was a year before he disappeared.

I was thinking of this as I watched the trees pass by my window. Thanks to Dean, I now sat in the front seat of the Impala. I leaned my head against the window. Sam was asleep in the backseat, and Dean was singing along to “Stairway to Heaven.” He looked over at me and furrowed his brow. “What’s wrong?”

“I was just remembering that time I screwed up the vampire profile,” I said. There was a scar above my left eye from it, and I touched it subconsciously. “Thanks for stepping in front of me.”

Dean’s eyes darkened. “Of course I stepped in front of you. I already loved you, Y/N.”

My eyes grew wider. “What?”

Dean smiled. “Yeah, from the moment I met you. Didn’t you know that?”

“ _No!”_ Dean grinned again and returned to singing Zeppelin. I leaned my head against the window again, and wondered how a man like Dean could’ve fallen in love with the blood-soaked-fresh-out-of-first-semester-of-college mess that his father had rescued from being eaten alive. Then I ran through the years, realizing that Dean should never have fallen in love with me at all.

He was so smart and recklessly courageous and selfless. He deserved a girl who could make him pecan pie on a weekly basis. A girl who could do the necessary research for the job. Not me, who could barely manage macaroni and cheese and needed a shot of vodka to get the guts to crack open a book of lore. Dean needed a girl with her shit together, with her ducks in a row. Not me, who woke up with nightmares from the time that Zachariah had kidnapped me to try to get the boys to say “yes” to Michael and Lucifer. Or from the time that John had drunkenly assaulted me, and I had had to break the man’s hand to fend him off. Or from the countless monster and ghost attacks, from all the times I acted as bait and the Winchesters had nearly been too late to rescue me.

By the time we got to the bunker, I had worked myself into a silent mental breakdown. I unloaded the Impala and disappeared into my room with a shot glass and a bottle of vodka. Dean and Sam didn’t ask questions; after all, a rougarou had nearly killed me just 14 hours earlier. I looked back on my life, and for every huge mistake I saw, I took a shot. Needless to say, I was hammered in under ten minutes. I kept going, though, slowing down. After a half hour, I couldn’t see straight, and I needed to talk to Dean.

I found him in the kitchen, drinking a beer and looking through a car magazine. “Dean! I’m sorry.”

Dean looked up, startled. He sighed when he saw how drunk I was, but he humored me. “For?”

“For not being the kind of girlfriend you deserve.” Before he could protest, I continued. “I love you so fucking much, you know that? And I want you to have a girl who makes amazing pecan pie and prime rib dinners. A girl who can figure out what you’re hunting in fifteen minutes flat. A girl who… isn’t broken,” I finished. “Your dad hit me that time for a reason, you know. And he tried to use me for a reason. Because that’s all I’m good for. Killing things and being used. When I fucked that up, that was when he got mad.”

Dean’s green eyes were wide with shock, but at that, he spoke up. “No! Y/N, you’re really drunk. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

I took a swig straight from my bottle, welcoming the burn as the alcohol ran down my throat and into my bloodstream. “Yes I do. I’ve been thinking this for months, for years. You deserve a girl who is as good as you are. And… and I’m keeping you from finding her.”

Dean pried the bottle from my hands. “It’s time for you to go to bed, Y/N.” He manhandled me into my bed and pressed a kiss to my forehead. He knelt down so he could look me in the eyes and said, “Maybe there’s a girl out there like you said, but I don’t want her. Okay? I want you. Fuck-ups and all.”

Then I must have passed out. When I woke up with a train going through my head, Dean had left a bottle of Gatorade and two aspirin on my bedside table. I groaned and took the pills, sipping at the Gatorade and waiting for relief to come. After a while, Dean came into my room and sat on my bed. “Y/N, we need to talk about last night.” He clasped his hands together and gripped so tightly that his knuckles turned white. “I need to know that you’re not going to leave me.”

“I can’t promise that,” I told him quietly. “I can’t promise because… because sometimes it feels like too much. This knowledge that I’m not good enough for you. It’s a lot to handle.”

Dean sighed, then tried a different tactic. “You said you were broken. So am I, Y/N. I know you don’t think I’m broken, otherwise this wouldn’t be an issue. But I don’t see you as broken, either.” I opened my mouth to protest, but he held up a hand and said, “Please, let me say this. You see yourself as broken because you’re a hunter who leads a damn hard life. I’m the same way, and that’s what it is. Sam sees himself as broken. Bobby sees himself as broken. Hell, even Cas sees himself as broken. But what matters is how the people we love see us. We’ve seen each other at our best and our worst, unfortunately, more of the latter than the former. But I don’t think Sam or Bobby or Cas is broken, and neither do you. We seem them as smart and brave and dependable. And then there’s you. Y/N, you see yourself as broken, but I see the you that you don’t see. I see the intelligence. I see the compassion. I see the sparkle in your eyes when you laugh. I hear you sing and it’s the sound that pie would make if it could make sound. I love you because of all these things, and because you aren’t broken. You could be; we lead one of the hardest lives there are, and you should be broken, but you’re not.”

I sniffed, as his speech had wrenched tears from my dehydrated body. “You’re not broken, either, Dean. You’re the best human being I’ve ever known and I love you for it.”


End file.
